


Bad Luck

by Phoenix_18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is miserable, Drarry, Harry doesn't know he loves Draco, Harry takes care of him, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poisoning, Post-Hogwarts, Sick Draco Malfoy, Sickfic, Sort Of, Vomiting, draco is a doctor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-09-29 11:43:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_18/pseuds/Phoenix_18
Summary: Harry frowned, disgusted. ‘Is that the problem? You’re a human incubator?’Malfoy rolled his eyes.‘The eggs are obviously poisonous for our bodies, Potter. If they aren’t expelled within a short period of time, we – I – risk death.’OrDraco's ill, and miserable and a total mess. Harry is in love with him and needs to take care of him for a couple of days.





	1. Bad Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I'm not an English native speaker, and I checked multiple times for mistakes, but I'm sure there will be. Just let me know and I'll happily correct them. Also, I'm searching for someone who might become my beta. It will help me A LOT.  
> I had this thing in mind for a while, and I kind of like my characters to suffer... Ops.  
> This is the first story I've ever published, I really hope you'll like it.

Harry was startled awake that morning by the loud thunder that ripped apart the dark sky of London. It was only November, but the cold, damp weather had already become unbearable. He found the strength to undress only ten minutes later and stayed under the hot water so long that when he got out, he was the same colour of a boiled lobster.  
His day got bad as soon as he reached the kitchen and found the fridge empty as his stomach.

 _Well, it’s my fault_.

He couldn’t blame his roommate, as he spent the last few days at St. Mungo’s and therefore the only one who used the food at home - and totally forgot to go grocery shopping the night before - was him.

Now that he came to think about it, he hadn’t seen him for the last 3 days.

_Might as well go live at the hospital._

He often wondered if the amount of shifts they made him do was normal, orlegal, to say the least . Sometimes, he was positive he specifically asked for so many shifts because he wanted to avoid him.  
That wasn't a problem, don't misunderstand him. Living alone - cause he felt that way, alone - was okay: he could invite whoever he wanted, do whatever he pleased, he was totally autonomous. He just felt… Lonely.  
Yes, Hermione and Ron were there every other day, and then there was Ginny, and Neville and Luna that were coming unannounced once a week. He was never alone – and he was so grateful for that – but sometimes he was afraid that having those people around the house was the reason why his roommate was spending most of his life working.  
He wanted to socialize with him. Get to know him. _Get him to like me_.

  
But then, again, it was better leaving things as they were. A closer relationship – or at least an attempt at it – would have led to catastrophic consequences.  
He still couldn’t understand how on earth he accepted such an absurd and _frustrating_ situation. Living with Malfoy. Not even Professor Trelawney could have foreseen it.  
Cursing that never-ending storm that London was that week, he went out to buy something to eat.

 

He had just left the supermarket, when an arm grabbed him from nowhere and apparted him away. A fraction of a second later, Harry was standing in the middle of what looked like a hospital room.

‘What the hell, Hermione?’ he snapped, after figuring out whose was the mysterious hand that just kidnapped him.

‘Sorry, you weren’t answering your phone.’

‘What, for Merlin’s beard, was so urgent to be kidnapped in the middle of the day?’  He asked, placing his breakfast on a trolley full of coloured bottles - antidotes and ointments, most likely.

‘Me’

Harry winced: he didn’t notice the boy lying on the bed.

‘Malfoy?’

Hermione sighed ‘A small incident happened, this morning. Draco will spend the next few days at home and I **must** be sure you can keep an eye on him.’

‘A small accident, Herm? Can you be more evasive?’

Hermione's gaze fall on Draco, who was currently laying in bed, inexpressive. She was just about to talk, when Draco broke the uncomfortable silence that was filling the room.

‘Hermione doesn’t want to scare me, Potter. The short version is that a couple of hours ago I was attacked by a Sylphis.’

Harry raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what a Syphis was and his empty stomach, combined with the annoying need of constantly ask for explanations, was irritating him.

‘So?’

‘A Sylphis – began to explain Hermione - is a semi-human creature. It has humanly features and usually lives among his peers in small communities, which leaves only when it has to lay its eggs. It attacks only if threatened."

Harry frowned, disgusted. ‘Is that the problem? You’re a human incubator?’

Malfoy rolled his eyes. ‘The eggs are obviously poisonous for our bodies, Potter. If they aren’t expelled within a short period of time, we – _I_  – risk death.’

‘Expelled how?’ he asked, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Seriously, for being the two best magicians of their age, they were both trying to make the conversation as twisted and omissive as possible. His belly growled.

‘We gave Draco a potion that acts as an antiparasitic. - Hermione explained - We can’t be sure about the contamination, because the kiss lasted only a few seconds.’

The kiss. Harry's stomach twisted, and this time he wasn’t hungry. _Not for food, at least_.  
He shrugged as if he was trying to send away an annoying insect. A totally ineffective method for what anyone – _Hermione_ – would have classified as jealousy, but which he insisted on categorizing as nothing.

‘When’- Harry was interrupted before he could ask the question.

‘Three hours after administration of the antiparasitic. If no contamination has occurred, I can go back to work tomorrow morning. If that creature has managed to lay its eggs - Malfoy curled his upper lip, disgusted to even say those words – things will get more complicated. Hermione was unclear about this part.’

Both Harry and Draco stared at her.

 

‘In that case, within one hour you will begin to feel a strong nausea, and in the following 24 to 48 hours your body will expel the dead eggs. The ejection usually takes place in maximum 24 hours and it’s exclusively oral. This, at least, in the best-case scenario.’

‘And the worst?’ Harry asked, well aware that he was a human magnet for this kind of bad luck. With him around, if something could go bad, it would have gone worse. Far worse.

Hermione looked down, nervous.

‘In that case, the ejection can last up until 48 hours, and it can… – she took a few moments to find the least embarrassing term she could use – **vary**. As in “both ends are interested”.’  
Draco turned pale, only to rapidly blushing, as his brain elaborated all the information.

‘Hermione, I can’t go home!’ He said, his voice higher than before.

‘You don’t think I can take care of you?’

Harry was a bit hurt.

‘Potter, I don’t mean that! - Draco answered, avoiding eye contact with him. ‘You and me ... We live together! I don’t... There are certain situations in which... I mean, not even my mother should see that!’

‘I would stop worrying about the implications these two days might have on our cohabitation, and I would start thinking about the possible public humiliation you’ll have to face if you stay here.’ Harry interrupted him.

Draco was now looking at him, puzzled.

‘I saw 5 different people passing by with a muggle phone pointing at your bed, in the last twenty minutes. And if I’m not wrong, you're certainly not the most popular doctor here at St. Mungo. I won’t be surprised if Hermione will find out that that Sylphis was introduced here with the specific purpose of hitting you.’

Draco sighed, dropping his head on the pillow. ‘Shit’

Harry didn’t say that out loud, but he thought it anyway. Taking care of Malfoy would have been problematic. Stubborn as he was, he wasn’t likely to accept any help, let alone from 'Potter'.  
God, what an awful day was going to be. Stuck at home with a sick Slytherin was basically the beginning of a horror movie. It was the last thing he wanted to do. He had stacks of paperwork to compile and sign, back at home. He had no time to waste.

_Maybe Hermione can bring him back to her place._

She was much more qualified. He didn’t know shit about what you are supposed to do in this kind of situation. He couldn’t even remember when was the last time he was sick.

_I’m a coward._

The only detail that was bothering him in that moment was the identity of his _patient_. He wasn’t annoyed, he was simply afraid. He was about to spend the next days close to him, holding his head up while he was being sick, helping him to bed, cooking him lunch and dinner. He was supposed to take care of him. Of Malfoy. Of the goddamn guy he had a huge crush since they started to live together.  
He was afraid to fuck it up. He was sure, he was going to fuck all up.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get bad for Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank all the people that left a kudo for my story, I really appreciate it!  
> Again, there will be mistakes. Just tell me and I'll correct them.  
> If you really like my story, leave me a comment!

‘Harry, shouldn’t you two head home?’

Harry glanced at his watch: time was about to run out.

‘Yes, we should.’ The Gryffindor answered, trying to sound as casual as possible. But Draco knew he was faking it.  
Harry was observing him for quite some time now, and even though Potter’s awful perspicacity was commonly known, Draco was sure even _he_ had notice, he was far from okay.

The nausea had appeared shortly after Harry’s arrival at the hospital, because he was just _that_ lucky. However, Malfoy was determined to ignore it as long as possible: no vomit before the three hours expired meant he wasn’t infected. What could he say? He was a dreamer. _A delusional one_.

‘You two go ahead – Hermione said, leaving the room -I need to update a couple of folders and then I’ll leave.’

Draco, who had silently followed the conversation, slowly got up from the bed. He glanced at the window: his reflection was blurry, but he could clearly see his flushed cheeks in contrast with the pale, greenish complexion. He took a deep breath, hoping it would help him feel better, but he got the exact opposite reaction, and a wave of nausea washed over him. He decided to lock his eyes on the blue tiles of the floor and started to swallow more than a healthy person would have.

‘Whenever you’re ready, Malfoy’ Harry said, hesitantly resting a hand on his shoulder ‘We’ll apparate from here. It’s the fastest way.’

 _Damn it._ He hadn’t considered Apparating.

Draco just shrugged, too busy trying to find out a way to avoid moving to their apartment. He knew from experience – a really nasty one - that Apparating wasn’t a pleasant experience while being sick. He didn’t have a way out, though. His perfect plan was far from perfect.

‘Ready?’

Malfoy nodded reluctantly, and he and Harry vanished from the room.

As soon as he felt his feet take off the ground, the nausea got worse and a second later, when familiar walls materialized around him, swallowing became impossible.

 ‘Kneel’ Potter ordered.

It took him a few moments to realize where exactly Potter had brought them, but as soon as he did, he obeyed at the request, grimacing: they had apparated in his bathroom, in front of the toilet, to be precise.  

For just a second, he felt grateful, only to be abruptly brought back to the reality of what was about to happen, and be consequently overwhelmed by deep, sheer humiliation.  
He hated Harry for being the bloody epitome of the Gryffindor, always ready to help, always witnessing the worst moments of his life.

 ‘Go away’ he said as firmly as possible.

Not only he was about to spend the whole day hugging the toilet, but Potter would have been there to assist him. Bloody Potter. The guy he had try to avoid in every way for the last three months. The guy who saved his life more than once, in more than one way. The reason why he was living in London and practising Mediwizardry, not rotting away at Azkaban.  
The bloody Gryffindor he had once admitted to Hermione – Merlin, was he drunk that night – having a tiny little crush on. The same guy he was now NOT leaving the bathroom nor giving him any privacy. He was feeling so bad, he didn’t care to sound polite anymore.

‘GET THE HELL OUT!’ he shouted. Harry finally left, slamming the door.

When Draco reappeared in the kitchen, visibly pale and shaking, Hermione was already there. He ungracefully dropped on the sofa, muttering something that neither Hermione nor Harry could understand.

 _Kill me now_.

Hermione waited a couple of minutes before running a quick check on him.

‘You have a few lines of fever. It will most likely increase in the next few hours, because of the stress that your body will have to endure and the unavoidable dehydration you will experience.’ She explained in a calm, reassuring voice.  
‘I suggest you drink a lot and eat something, every once in a while.’

‘Eat? I hope you're joking ...’ The thought of food made him shiver.

‘Draco, you can’t spend the next few days without eating anything. Vomiting with something in your stomach is certainly less painful than having to do that empty-stomached.’ He rolled his eyes in the most exaggerated way possibly, which it turned out to be another move he needed to avoid for the next 24 hours. He took a few shallow breaths, trying to ease the queasiness.  
Hermione used her famous _it’s-called-karma_ glance.

‘I've already explained everything to Harry.’

Draco looked up at the table where his roommate sat, and for a moment their eyes met. Draco immediately lowered them, embarrassed about the whole situation.

 _What the hell did I do to deserve this?_ Several answers came up in his mind. _Never mind_.

‘You'd better sleep a little, if you can, because I highly doubt you'll have a chance tonight.’

‘How reassuring, ‘Mione. I bet you are the most sensitive Healer of the hospital.’

‘I figured you would have preferred the hard truth, plus I don’t think sugar-coating this situation will be of any help.’ Hermione said pragmatically, returning to the table where Harry had prepared two cups of steaming tea.  
Draco didn’t answer: she was right, as always. Plus, he could recognize a hint of concern in her voice. Since the end of the war and the eighth year they spent together at Hogwarts, they’ve became friends. They often had lunch together, they shared notes, books, and most importantly, they shared life experiences. Ron and Harry knew Hermione and Draco were friends, and although they didn’t openly disapprove, they weren’t thrilled about this relationship. With time, however, they both buried the hatch and started to tolerate him around. At the beginning, it all seemed too awkward, but they found a way to move on and now they kind of enjoyed spending time together. Not too much time, though. Anyway, he and Hermione were friends, and for this reason he was aware that beneath that façade, Hermione was truly worried about him.  
Already feeling extremely tired, he decided to lay on the couch and try to get some sleep, while he could.

 

The two Gryffindor spent the next two hours drinking tea, eating cookies and chatting in a low voice, until Harry apologized and asked Hermione to leave and come back next morning, because he had some work to do and he needed to finish by that night.

Harry waited a few seconds, then took the bucket he usually used to clean the floor and placed it next to the couch. He remembered Malfoy criticizing him, one of the few times they spoke together, about his cleaning habits.

'Why the hell do you spend your day cleaning, when all you need is a wand?'

Harry had shrugged. ‘Habit, I think.’ And he kept cleaning.

 

‘Hermione is back in the hospital, you can stop pretending to sleep.’ He told him, sitting down on the table in front of the couch.

‘So what?’ He replied, keeping his eyes shut.

Harry bit his tongue: this was Malfoy’s self-defence mechanism, provoking him would have been totally useless. The guy was sick and _scared_ , it was written all over his face.

‘Do you need a hand to get to the bathroom?’ Harry asked, trying to be as kind as possible.

‘I don’t need your help’ Draco stated, sitting up slowly. Every movement was worsening the nausea, but he needed to reach the bathroom soon enough. He had felt sick for quite some time now, but he was waiting for Hermione to leave. Thank Merlin she just left, he was doubting he could resist any… _Oh_.  
He looked at Harry, realizing the real reason why he asked Hermione to leave.  
_Bloody Gryffindor_.  
A wet belch escaped his lips, while the little colour on his face vanished.  
_There it is, another round_.  
He got up and left the room as fast as he could.

This time Harry didn’t follow him. However, ten minutes later he began to worry.  
He knocked softly at the bathroom door and waited for an answer, but all he got was what it seemed a feeble whine, which he interpreted as an invitation to get in.

‘How do you feel?’ He asked, entering the room.

The room was filled with the pungent smell of vomit, mixed with what resembled rotten eggs.  
Draco was sitting on the floor, one arm was resting on the toilet seat and the other was on the knee. His head was being held up by the wall behind him. Despite still being worn out and breathless, he somehow found the strength to protest about the invasion of privacy.

‘Go away’  
He was still recovering, and for a moment he wasn’t sure he managed to say that out loud. But then he saw the smirk on Harry’s lips, and he realised Potter was just ignoring him. Fuck him, he was too tired to argue. He closed his eyes again, focusing on the cold tiles against the back of his head.

Meanwhile, Harry flushed and filled a glass of water.

‘Rinse your mouth.’

He didn’t sound like an order, though Draco suspected it was supposed to be one. Instead, Potter’s request sounded firm but somehow gentle. _Good Morgana, the Gryffindor was evolving in an Hufflepuff._

In any case, he didn’t want Potter there. He wanted to be miserable all alone, he didn’t need a bloody baby sitter. Why the hell wouldn’t he leave him? He knew he wasn’t finished yet, his stomach was still rolling and twisting inside him like a Flobberworm. _Bad metaphor_.  
The saliva started to flood his mouth and he felt suddenly warm. Too warm.

‘Go-‘ He was interrupted by a hiccup.

He moved closer to the toilet again, both hands now tightly grasping the white porcelain border.

‘Away’ he ended, breathing frantically, the whole body tensed, ready for the inevitable.

The next 5 seconds seemed never ending. At the stroke of the sixth second Draco's body was shaken by a violent retch, followed by the revolting noise of the liquid that hit the toilet.  
The scene went on for a few minutes, and when Draco finally stopped, he rested his head on the edge of the toilet trying to catch his breath.

Harry stood there looking at him for what they seemed like hours, not knowing what to do. Something had snapped in him, seeing Malfoy so ... vulnerable. He realised the inconvenience of being there: Malfoy didn’t like him, he was probably the last person on earth he would have wanted to be helped by in that moment. The best thing Harry could do, was leave the room, giving Draco space, the privacy of puking his guts out without having someone watching him. Harry knew all that, yet he found he was stuck there, petrified. He wanted to leave but he couldn’t.

In addition, Draco wasn’t actively complaining about his presence now, so maybe a little help would be accepted. Harry decided to give the water another try.

‘Drink.’

Draco silently accepted the water: with the first two sips he rinsed away from his mouth that metallic, almost chemical taste. Then, in small drops, he drank the rest of it, hoping it would soothe his throat.

‘Do you need help going back to the living room?’

‘I told you to leave.’

And there it was again, good old Malfoy. Always keeping anyone at distance, pushing people away because he didn’t want to look weak. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle: he spent so many years studying him, watching every move, that now he felt like he could actually understand the Slytherin. He knew what he was feeling, he knew what Malfoy was doing, replying that bitterly.

‘And I decided to ignore you’, he replied, getting up from the floor and stopping at the bathroom door.

‘What do you want? Malfoy barked.

‘An answer to my question.’

‘I don’t need a bloody help, Potter.’

Harry turned his back and left without saying a word.  
Draco silently cursed the situation he was in, his stupid pride that made him refuse the help and Harry “The Golden Boy” Potter, that was just annoyingly kind-hearted, even with him. Now he had to find the strength to get up and reach the couch.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said at the beginning of this story, I like to see my characters suffering. Which means, this is only the beginning for Draco.   
> Don't get used to a daily update, I just happen to have some free time before the new semester starts. Enjoy it, while it lasts... ;)

He heard him walk down the hall and decided to ignore him: he kept his eyes on the blank page, pretending to focus on words that did not exist. After a few minutes spent staring at the emptiness in front of him, unable to concentrate on what he had to write, Harry looked up.

Draco was lying on the couch, his legs were drawn towards his chest and his arms were wrapped around his stomach. He had to be exhausted, because he was already asleep. Harry stood up and carefully covered him with a woollen blanket. He couldn’t help but notice, Draco’s forehead was dampened by a thin layer of sweat and, judging by his furrowed brow and uneven breathing, he was definitely still in pain.

Harry went back writing the report he had to finish yesterday, but he soon decided to move to the sofa, in order to keep an eye on his stubborn roommate. He tried to fix his attention on the sheets in front of him, in vain. He gently stroked Draco’s cheek, hoping he wouldn’t wake up, because he had no convincing explanation about _why_ he was doing _that_.   
_He’s burning up._ He needed to drink something, he was already dehydrated.   
_Not now, now he just needs to sleep_.   
He watched him for some time, appreciating the stillness and silence that was reigning in the room.

 

Draco had slept for almost a couple of hours, when he finally opened his eyes and looked at him with a blank, disoriented look.

‘You fell asleep on the couch before.’ Harry explained, startling Malfoy, who was still a little bit out of it and didn’t realise he was looking at another.

‘Oh, yeah…’

He cringed, recalling what happened. He was pretty sure he was going to die of embarrassment before the end of the 24 hours.

He noticed Potter had moved from the table and he felt a warm feeling that had nothing to do with his body temperature. Potter was still working, but the sofa was clearly less comfortable than the table. That meant, he moved because of him.   
Maybe the Gryffindor was starting to like him, or at least tolerate him. Maybe he was just worried he would have died under his watch, and Hermione would have killed him. Maybe he was overthinking it a little.   
He opened his mouth to thank him – yes, he was somewhat aware that he would have sound weird, but screw that, he was sick and he could always blame the fever.    
But he never got to say a word, as he sat up suddenly and put a hand to his mouth, while his eyes wandered desperately around the room.

Harry handed him the bucket he had placed next to the couch before, and Draco grasped it convulsively, before diving right into it. For a few minutes, the only sounds that echoed in the apartment were strangled moans followed by unpleasant retching.   
Draco's face was almost completely hidden in the bucket and by his arms, that were wrapped around it, but Harry could saw he was in pain by the violence of the spasms that preceded each heave, and the white knuckles gripped tightly around the plastic edge of the bin.

When he finally emerged from the bucket, Draco was a mess: his cheeks were red because of the exertion, in sharp contrast to his almost ashen-like complexion. His eyes were bright and filled with tears of fatigue. He couldn’t stop shivering.

Harry just took the bucket from Malfoy’s hands and laid it on the ground. Draco wanted to say something, in order to break the uncomfortable quietness of the room, but he didn’t trust himself to talk right now. He wasn’t lucid enough, and he wasn’t sure he was finished.

Harry went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of water, a glass and a wet napkin. He poured the water and gave it to Malfoy, who took the glass with both hands, trembling slightly - Harry didn’t know whether it was because of the fever or simply because he was completely worn-out. Once he finished drinking, Harry delicately rubbed the napkin over his face, mentally cheering when Draco didn’t move away or complain about it.    
_So lame,_ he thought, slightly smiling.

Hoping that the worst was over, for now, he left the other man alone and went to clean the bucket. When he came back to the living room, Malfoy was sitting on the edge of the couch, bent over himself and with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

‘Give me–‘ he moaned, eyes glued to the ground. Harry placed the bucket in front of him.

‘Are you gonna throw up again?’

Draco answered with a gag, followed by a retch, and another one again.

Harry watched him motionless, not knowing what to do. _Again, how surprising.  
_He was growing tired of being totally powerless in that situation. Malfoy was hurt and he had another 16 hours of throwing up, at least. He needed help but was too proud to ask or even accept it. Harry was doing his best, trying to keep his feelings away, behaving like he was expected to, like he didn’t really care. But he wasn’t sure he could maintain that fake nonchalance much longer.

He was lost in his thought, when Draco decided to get up from the couch, bucket still in his hands.

_Now what?_

‘What do you think you're doing?’ Harry asked, exasperated and annoyed by the fact that the Slytherin wouldn’t say anything about how he was feeling, or where he was going, or what the hell he was doing!

‘Bathroom’ Malfoy murmured.

‘There’s no need to go to the bathroom,’ he said, trying to push him back down – ‘you can finish here. I'll take you to the bathroom as soon as you stop, and most importantly when I’ll be sure you won’t faint becau-

But Malfoy got up again, ignoring him, and looked directly into his eyes for the first time since they had arrived at home.   
He hissed through his teeth ‘I need a toilet.’   
A strange, gurgling sound followed his words, and Harry finally understood.

_Oh my. Worst case scenario_.

‘Yes, sorry ... Come on, lean on me.’

He led him to the door, and he was about to take the bucket away when Malfoy stopped him.

‘Leave it here.’ He said, blushing as much as his current condition could let him. When he closed the door behind him, Harry could have sworn Draco was on the verge of tears.

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you'll love reading this chapter as much as I loved writing it.  
> Thank you so much for leaving kudos and comments, I really appreciate it!  
> I won't keep you any longer.... Have fun!

He left the bathroom more than half an hour later. He headed straight to his bedroom, doing his best to avoid Harry. He couldn’t face him right now. However, he heard the chair moving, and soon after Harry’s head appeared in the hall, leaning out the door. He raised his trembling hand before the Gryffindor could even speak. Last thing he wanted was to talk to the guy. Why could he understand it? Why was he constantly around? He entered in his room as fast as he could, slamming the door behind him.

_Which part of leave me alone don’t you understand?_

 

Draco woke up in the middle of the night. At first, he wondered why he was awake, but then a sharp pain in the abdomen took away his breath.  
He tried to go back to sleep, but another cramp hit him, stronger and longer than the previous one: he was wide awake now.  
_Dammit_.  
He hated being sick, he hated feeling vulnerable. Most of all, he hated to be in need of help. Truth to be told, what he loathed the most was that, of all people, Harry “The Golden Boy” Potter was the one witnessing it all. Merlin, he would have preferred the Weasel instead, at least he wasn’t attracted by that loud ginger.

Trying his best not to make a sound, he clutched his arms around his waist and waited helplessly for the whole thing to be gone.  
He was exhausted, he didn’t really have the strength to get up and reach the bathroom, but he knew he had to move soon, because that pain was only the foretaste of what was yet to come, that night.  
Struggling, he tried to sit up, but just shifting on his side upset his stomach so much that from his lips escaped a long, painful moan.  
_Bollocks_.  
He freezed, praying Harry was already asleep and couldn’t hear a thing, but after less than one minute the door of his room opened slowly. Screw him and his endless luck.  


‘Are you okay?’ Harry asked, his voice still drowsy, standing backlit in between his room and the corridor. Draco could only guess his outline wrapped by the dim light of the hall.

‘Leave me alone.’  He hissed.

Harry obviously entered the room and reached his bed.

‘Is it cramps?’

He nodded, too busy not to scream in pain to answer properly. He was about to ask another question, when Draco’s stomach gave out a sound that almost seemed inhuman.

_Fuck me._

 ‘I think you should go to the-‘

 _There it was, Harry Sherlock Potter_.

He growled. He was angry, furious at the other man. He wanted to be alone. Alone. But the pain was growing every second, becoming unbearable, clouding his already much confused mind. He wanted to kick him out of the room, but let’s be serious, he was in no condition to do so.  
Harry was still standing there, probably waiting for him to accept the suggestion he so cleverly gave him.

‘I c-c-can't move.’

He wanted to add something sarcastic, but the pain was overcoming even his attitude.

‘Come on, I'll help you...’ Harry said softly, moving away the covers.

 _Of course you want to help, bloody Potter only wants to help_.

Harry carefully moved his legs over the edge of the bed.

‘Can you at least stop being so uncooperative and help me out?’ he asked annoyed.

He regretted it as soon as he heard his own voice. He felt guilty, he didn’t want to sound like a jerk. That was the last thing Malfoy needed, being verbally attacked while he was having trouble standing.

Malfoy shook his head. He didn’t want his help. He didn’t want him here. His head was pounding, his face was beaded with drops of cold sweats, his hands were freezing cold but he felt like he was literally on fire. He only wanted Harry to be gone, he wanted to be left there, suffering alone, cause that was what he deserved.

He tried to tell him that, but his throat suddenly tightened and his stomach rolled over. He sealed his lips, scared he was going to throw up on Harry. Even if that stupid Gryffindor deserved it, Draco didn’t think he could survive such humiliation. 

‘I can't move you if you don't cooperate. I just need you to try and sit...’

He insisted, slightly pulling his arms.

Draco was now whimpering, fighting back the tears that were forcing their way out the corner of his eyes. He had to win this battle. He couldn’t let Harry see him cry, no way. He couldn’t lose his pride like this.  
He was a Malfoy. He was a Slytherin. He was strong, he was… He was stupid. He was agonizing. He needed help, whether he want it or not. Besides,Potter really seemed to be worried about him. 

‘I c-c... I don't....’

God, this was _the_ worst night of his life. Almost burning to death seemed much less painful now. Harry kept talking to him. Why was he so nice? He wasn’t worthy of his kindness.  

‘I'm sorry, but you need to sit up.’

Harry firmly grabbed his arms and lifted him up slowly.  
  
Draco tried to speak again, unsuccessfully. He couldn’t remember what he wanted to say. How was he supposed to say that word? What was he doing?

‘I'm sorry, I don’t want to hurt you.’

His head was spinning fast, he couldn’t catch his own thoughts. He lifted his head and opened his mouth in order to tell him something, but he jerked towards instead, throwing up on the floor - on Harry’s pants, mostly.

‘Jesus, Malfoy!’

Harry moved away from the trajectory but kept his hands on Draco.

‘Come on, let’s g-’ He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Harry found himself praying for a miracle, for that to be just a nightmare.  
The sudden heave made Draco lose control of his bowels. The following unmistakable sound made Harry cringe.

He looked down at Draco: he was retching forcibly on the floor while Harry was holding him up, in order to prevent him to face plant on his own vomit, and he was also shitting himself, every retch making him soil himself more.  
  
Draco kept pushing and pushing, unable to regain control over his own body, feeling the disgusting warmth running down his legs and up to his lower back, as he was simultaneously expelling everything he had inside – vital organs included.  
The next several minutes went on agonizingly slow, but then he finally dry heaved a couple of times and stopped.

Harry stood there frozen. He couldn’t see Draco’s face, cause he was keeping his head down, staring at the floor. He was struggling to catch his breath and regain whatever dignity he has left – not that he is counting on find any of it. He didn’t want to cry. If he started, he couldn’t stop.

 _Just. Keep. Breathing_.

‘How are you-‘

‘Please - he interrupted him - please... don't ask... Cause I don't –‘

His voice was croaked and barely audible, and every word was costing him a giant effort. His throat was on fire – his cheeks would have been too, if it wasn’t for the nausea draining away all the colour from his face.

 _Just breathe_.

Harry realized Malfoy was still leaning on his hands, completely unable to move.

‘Let's go take a shower.’ He hushed. The words seem to bounce around the silent room.

‘Leave, please.’

Draco said weakly, almost begging.

Harry gently lifted his chin, meeting his eyes filled with tears of exhaustion and embarrassment. He felt like he just received a punch in his stomach: seeing him like literally broke his heart.  
In that moment, he couldn’t care about concealing his emotions. He couldn’t even care for Malfoy’s pride, which was the root of the self-destructive behaviour of the last 12 hours. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t been able to leave the room, leave Draco like that. Well-aware that what was about to say would have led to Malfoy changing house, maybe even country, he evanesced the vomit on the ground and on the sheets, although he knew he needed to change them afterwards - a spell can only do so much.

‘No, you need help. I’m not leaving.’

Draco turned away, unable to look at Harry, and shook his head, but the Gryffindor ignored him.

‘Let's go shower.’ He repeated, wrapping his arm around his waist and helping him get up.

Draco let him move him around like a lifeless doll. He was trapped in a nightmare and couldn’t wake himself up. The scorching feeling of shame was devouring him. He tried to remember when the last time was he ever experienced something like this, but not even when You Know Who was torturing him he ever felt so exposed. He prayed with every fibre of his being to be swallowed by the ground and fall into oblivion.


	5. Chapter Five

Harry felt his face lighting up like a Christmas tree, when he realized he had to completely undress Malfoy. It was literally the worst moment he could choose to think about him in that way. But it wasn’t like he could control his mind - or his body, apparently.

 _I’m an asshole_.

The Slytherin was practically on the other side, and he was turn on by a naked body. Like it was the first time he had ever seen a guy naked . It was the first time he was looking at Draco, though. So, he was partially excused.

 _No, I’m still an asshole_. 

 

Harry couldn’t imagine how Draco was feeling, as he helped him strip down and climb into the bathtub full of hot water. _Upset_ would have been the nicest way to put it. _Defeated_ could have worked as well. _Done_.   
Meanwhile, Malfoy was avoiding his gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on his toes. Harry could sense the repulsion about what was going on irradiating from his roommate, however Draco never complained and let Harry easily turn him around. Harry couldn’t decide if it was because he was finally accepting the aid he needed, or if he was simply too sick to fight. Not that that mattered, he just wanted to clean him up before he felt sick again.

Which, of course, he did. He throwed up again while dressing up. One moment he was sitting on the closed toilet - big mistake - and Harry was helping him wear a hideous red and gold shirt, the moment after he hunched over the bathtub, spilling out acid bile and... frog – like eggs. He didn’t even have the strength to ask Harry to leave. But then again, after what he witnessed less than 30 minutes before, he figured there was no use sending him away. 

Harry stood aloof, even if every cell of his body wanted to do something, anything to relief some of the pain Draco was experiencing. But he shooed him away right before retching in the tub, so he fulfilled his request and didn’t interfere.

Harry finally tucked Draco in around two in the morning. Harry couldn’t change the sheets – he didn’t even know where to find them – so they both moved in Harry’s room. Harry almost thought to go sleeping on the couch, but then he thought leaving the guy alone wasn’t the greatest choice he could make. Hermione would have probably slapped him for even considering it. He settled himself on the really-cool-but-definitely-not-so-comfortable armchair, doubting he would sleep at all.

It turned out, staying was indeed the right decision. Around 4 am Draco started to shift restlessly into bed, waking Harry up. He wasn't actually sleeping. He tried to sleep, but every time he was finally drifting off, his brain rebooted, keeping him alert. It wasn't a problem, thought, cause he was used to the endless Auror's stakeouts he had to do for a living.

He squeezed his eyes, still wearing his glasses, looking at Draco’s silhouette lighted up by the bedside lamp, that he providentially he kept it on, in case...

_In case of this._

Draco was breathing heavily and there was a strained sound coming out at the end of every breath.

Harry sat up, ready to move if necessary. 

Draco gasped loudly and opened his eyes. It took him a couple of seconds to understand where he was, and then the pain was back, stabbing his guts, twisting a knife back and forth inside him. He knew where this was going. Harry knew it too.

_Not again, please not again...._

He had to get up, he had to get up NOW.

He tossed away the covers and took a few steps, but he ended stumbling on his feet, almost dropping on the ground. Someone caught him, helped him towards the bathroom, which is only ten steps ahead, but it seemed a never-ending journey to him.

‘Hold on... Hold on...’

There was a voice, a husky warm voice that soothed him. There were hands, steady, strong hands, that dragged him in front of the toilet as gently as possible.

Harry looked at him, but Draco was lost in his own mind: his eyes were glassy, and they were looking right through him.

Suddenly, the unhuman gurgling of Draco’s stomach echoed around the room. Draco started to panic, the colour drained from his face as he fumbled to undo his pants.

‘No no no no no’ he whimpered, his eyes filling with tears.

Harry interceded, taking Draco’s trembling hands away and lowering his pants. He did it as fast as he could, trying to avoid another “tragedy”. He sat on the toilet just in time.

_Thank God._

Harry took a couple of steps towards the door, well intended to give Malfoy some privacy – even if it was clearly a tiny little bit late for that - but Draco had other plans. He leaned forward and retched that little water he had managed to drink before. He tried to avoid the inevitable by covering his mouth with a hand, but Harry moved it away, knowing it was absolutely useless and gross,and started to gently rub Draco’s back.

‘Don't worry, I'll clean up later. Let it all out.’

There was almost nothing left inside him, so he was dry heaving soon enough.

Harry evanesced the vomit on the floor with a simple gesture – he left the wand somewhere, he honestly couldn’t remember in that moment. Draco murmured something that Harry couldn’t catch.  
He kneeled in front of him.

‘Are you okay?’

Draco lifted his head and looked directly into Harry’s eyes. Tears were copiously running down his cheeks, his grey eyes were now flecked with red shards of ache and weariness.

‘S-s-sorry…’

His voice sounded muffled, wrecked, like his throat was covered in broken shards of glass.

‘Don’t worry’ Harry replied, uncomfortable. But the Slytherin didn’t seem to listen.

‘I’m sorry… I’m s-s-so sorry… Sorry’ he kept chanting, almost sobbing. Like he was asking for a universal forgiveness, a chance to atone to all the wrongs he had done. Harry could hear his heart shatter in pieces. He’d never saw him so desperate, so helpless. Without even thinking of what was doing, he took Draco’s face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.

‘Shh, don’t worry. I forgive you, okay?’ he told, still caressing his cheeks ‘I forgive you, I swear.’

To hell with denying what was feeling – let’s be honest, what he always felt - for Draco. He leaned forward, kissing his forehead as gently as possible, worried he could hurt him more than he already was.

‘Let's go to bed, okay?’

Draco nodded weakly. Harry smiled softly and placed another delicate kiss on Draco’s head.

He forced him to drink some more water, before heading back to the bedroom.

‘Stay, please…’ Draco asked him, after lying down. A simple request, that made Harry’s stomach flutter.

‘Of course.’ He replied, lying by his side and hugging him. Luckily, Draco managed to sleep until morning.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me longer than the previous one to update, but uni started....  
> It came out longer than expected. Nothing much is happening in this chapter, if compared to the previous ones. But I needed it as a "transition", otherwise the next one will be neverending.   
> As always, thank you so much for leaving comments and kudos!

Next morning, Harry woke up with Draco curled up in his arm, one hand lying on Malfoy’s stomach, the other one on his scruffy blonde hair. The first thing he noticed was the heat the Slytherin was irradiating, his fever already rising before even waking up. Then he focused on his pale, almost greyish face, his hair stuck on his sweaty forehead. He was still sleeping – _thank God for that_ – but he was tense, and his expression was somehow pained.

He freed himself and left the bed as carefully as possible. Last thing he wanted was waking up the poor guy who just spent the night losing half of his body weight throwing up. He just made it to the kitchen, when he heard a knock on the door. He looked at his watch: it was only eight in the morning. Who the hell was awake and knocking at his door so early?

He opened the door: Hermione, that’s who.

‘Good morning Harry!’

He didn’t bother to answer verbally, he just raised a hand.

‘Guess yours was a busy night.’

‘You have no idea.’

Harry regretted that sentence soon after: he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He needed a coffee. Or two.

‘Was he that bad?’ Hermione asked, her eyes looked… sad.

 ‘Let’s just say, it wasn’t pleasant for both of us.’ He answered, taking out the coffee powder from the cupboard and filling the machine with water.

‘What do you mean?’

Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. What happened during the night wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. Merlin, he wasn’t even his story to tell.

‘Hermione, I’m not the person you should ask about last night.’ The intense aroma of coffee hovered in the kitchen.

‘Understood.’ He smiled slightly, nodding.

Harry took out two cups and poured the fresh batch of coffee. She took one cup with both hands, slowly moving it closer to her lips and blowing. The two of them just sat in the kitchen in silence, sipping coffee and listening to the rain that was relentlessly pouring down.

Both of them were brought back to reality by the unmistakably sound of retching.

_Please, let it stop._ Harry thought almost desperately. He couldn’t bear it another whole day. Seeing Draco like that was physically hurting him. Hermione was already running towards Malfoy’s room, when Harry reached and stopped her.

‘He’s not there. We moved in my bedroom.’

Hermione raised and eyebrow, silently questioning him. Harry ignored her: it was too early, plus the coffee hadn’t kick in yet.

He reached the door first, but he stood in front of it, leaving it closed. He realized, he had no idea how Draco could react at his sight. The experiences they shared the night before were too embarrassing for him, let alone the proud Slytherin.

_What should I do?_

Hermione walked past him, opening the door without even bothering to knock. 

Draco was leaning on the side of bed, panting. He had aimed at the bucket Harry left there just hours before, avoiding a huge mess. Nevertheless, his aim hadn’t been perfect. Hermione took out her wand and evanesced everything.

‘Hi, Draco…’ she greeted him, with a soft, warm voice. She helped him lying in bed again.

‘Hi’

‘Rough night?’ she asked, starting her examination. Malfoy closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, curling up his lips.

_He knows._

Harry’s heart skipped a bit. He was torn apart: on one side he was praying the fever had erased all the terrible memories, on the other hand… He honestly couldn’t stop thinking about the way Draco asked him to stay. He wanted him to remember that part.   
Then again, if Malfoy recalled what happened, he would have probably lost all the possibilities he never had with him. Hell, he doubted Malfoy would have shared the same country, let alone the same apartment, after what Harry had witnessed. He would have probably lost his roommate, too.

‘Can’t remember much…’

Harry breathed again, but a heavy brick sat at the bottom of his stomach. He entered the room, avoiding Malfoy’s gaze.

‘Can you try and focus?’ Her voice sounded like velvet. Harry never heard her use that voice. It seemed the same Molly Weasley used with her sons, sometimes. It was a mother voice. Hermione really cared for him, and Malfoy was letting her do whatever she needed, was letting her be gentle, was letting her take care of him.  The Mudblood he once couldn’t stand, the girl he wished to be killed by the Basilisk, was now one of his best friends – though he would probably never admit it.

_The irony of life_ , Harry thought, looking at the scene in disbelief.

Hermione moved away the covers and chuckled.

‘Nice pyjama!’

Malfoy looked down and, if possible, he became even more paler. He was wearing a crimson shirt, with a giant lion head on it, and red and gold striped pants. His eyes shifted on Harry, accusing him. Harry suddenly felt naked. 

‘Why the hell am I wearing these clothes, Potter’

‘I-I-I had to… I had to change them.’

_No shit, Sherlock._

‘Why?’ The threatening way Malfoy pronounced that simple word made him shiver, both scared of telling the truth and _aroused_.

_What another perfect moment to be._

‘The fever. Your fever broke during the night. You were drenched.’ He sucked at lying. He knew the moment he opened his mouth, Malfoy never could believe him.

‘That explains the shirt, not the pants.’ Hermione said absentmindedly.

_What the fuck, Hermione._ Harry felt Malfoy’s eyes trying to pierce through his skull, as he wanted to see what Harry was hiding. He had to tell the truth, as much as it bothered him to admit it, he recognised Malfoy deserved the whole version of the story.

‘You honestly don’t remember anything at all about last night?’

‘No…’ Malfoy said, after thinking about it another moment.

‘You were sick. You needed to change. I won’t add anythi-‘ He tried once more, hoping he would remember by himself, dodging the story-telling moment.

‘You will. I need to know how the ejection is going. I need to know what happened.’ Hermione intervened bluntly.

‘I’d prefer not to tell you this.’

‘But Hermione needs to know. And right now, I want to know too.’ Malfoy struggled to keep his voice steady.

‘Do you remember being sick late in the afternoon?’

‘Yes. Worst case scenario. I went to bed. My bed. This isn’t my bed.’ He just realized. The already high temperature was clouding his mind.

‘You woke up in the middle of the night, screaming, in pain. I tried to help you to the bathroom. You said you couldn’t move. I insisted, and you ended throwing up on me.’

‘If I threw up on you, why am I the one with different clothes?’

‘Because… - _here goes nothing_ \- because while doing that, you lost control of your body. You –‘

He blushed, his eyes opened wide, still fixed on Harry.

‘Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. I thought that was just a nightmare. No. No way.’ He was shaking his head, as he could erase everything just by doing that.

‘So **now** you remember?’ Harry couldn’t stop himself from saying it out loud. Malfoy looked away.

‘Just those moments.’

‘Well, after _that_ , I helped you taking a shower. You threw up again in the bathtub, then went back to bed.’

‘That’s all, he slept until morning?’ Hermione asked. Harry had forgotten she was still there, too busy analysing all the reactions Malfoy was having while he was going on with his summary.

‘No. You woke up again around four, still agonizing. You could barely stand.’

‘Please tell me that-‘

‘We made it to the bathroom’ Harry reassured him ‘though it was another nasty scene.’

‘What-‘ Malfoy wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but it had happened anyway.

‘You threw up while… You know.’

‘Kill me. Kill me now.’

‘After that, you…’ Harry stopped.

_After that you burst into tears and asked me to forgive you. Also, we slept together_.

He couldn’t tell him that. Not now, anyway. He cleared his throat, then resumed ‘After that I helped you to bed. And you slept until morning.’

A very uncomfortable silence fell in the room. Hermione was still moving her wand up and down, scanning Draco’s body.

‘Get out.’ Malfoy’s voice cracked at the end, like he was about to cry.

Harry felt a punch hitting his stomach. That was exactly what he was expecting, however it still hurt.

‘Yes, of course.’ Harry answered, leaving the room.

 

 

Hermione got back to the kitchen soon after. He was washing the cups, his back towards the hall, his room, his roommate.

‘Don’t get mad, Harry. He was just embarrassed.’ Hermione tried to comfort him.

‘I know.’

‘Something else happened?’ She could read him like a book.

‘Nothing happened. He just… He asked me to stay. He was feverish, and exhausted, and probably confused. But he asked me to stay. I woke up this morning hugging him. And now… Now it just hurt.’

Hermione gently put her hand on his shoulder.

‘Give him time to process.’

‘He doesn’t remember.’

‘For now, maybe he will.’

Harry shrugged. It was useless: even if Malfoy remembered, it would have probably meant nothing to him.

‘It’s surprising, though.’ She added, after a few quiet moments.

‘What is?’ Harry asked, totally clueless.

‘When we talked about Malfoy, last time, you were outraged by what you called “groundless allegations”’

‘By what? Hermione, please… I’m in no mood for these games.’

She chuckled.

‘Soon after he moved in, I asked you if you felt anything for him. Romantically speaking. You almost yelled at me.’

Now was Harry’s turn to blush violently. Yeah, that conversation happened. He remembered attacking her, swearing it was all in her head, that he “absolutely didn’t like that prick”. He was a lousy liar.

‘Yeah…’

‘So?’

‘So…. I’m sorry for yelling at you?’

‘And?’

Harry smiled. He knew where she was going.

‘And you were right. As always.’

She faked a shocked expression, dramatically moving her hands on her chest.

‘Screw you, Mione…’

‘Can I suggest a course of action?’

‘I’m all ears’ he answered sarcastically.

‘Talk to him.’

‘Yes, of course! I can totally see that conversation going well.’ He replied bitterly.

_Hey Malfoy, I think I like you. Want to go out on a date?_ What could possibly go wrong?

‘Do what you want. I was only an idea.’ She puffed, glancing at her watch.

‘Time to go! I’ll stop by after my shift…’

He kissed Harry on his cheek. ‘Bye, Harry.’


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so much updating. Life happened.  
> The chapter wasn't supposed to be that long. It wasn't even supposed to be that "fluffly". Apparently, I have no control over my brain... Anyway, I'm not 100% satisfied with the outcome, but I couldn't change it. So here it is.   
> Next chapter is already work in progress, hope I'll be able to update soon!   
> As always, a huge thank you to all the people that leave a kudo or a review!

‘Get out.’

Draco didn’t know where he found the strength of asking Potter to leave. His memories were coming back confused, bits and pieces hovering around his head, adding unwanted details. Now he clearly remembered the first time he had woken up: the stabbing pain, Harry’s hands on his shoulders, his clothes sticking disgustingly to his body, the fresh water caressing his feverish body.   
He was burning up now, too, but he believed it was only the shame eating him up.  

‘Yes, of course.’ Potter answered, and Draco saw how hurt the Gryffindor was. He felt guilty. After all, all Potter did was helping him, he didn’t deserve this ingratitude. But he couldn’t bare looking at him any longer.

He felt like he was drowning, he was breathing but the air couldn’t make it to his lungs. Not enough, anyway.

‘Calm down, Draco’ Hermione said, waving her wand around. ‘Come one, breathe in … and out. With me. In and out.’

He didn’t know if it was her voice that soothed him, or if she had casted a calming charm, but he slowly regained control. He tried not to think that, on top of everything, she now knew what happened the night before, too.

How long until the Weasel knew? How long until the story would have spread like an infection, and everyone would have pointed at him, laughing?

‘No one is telling anyone what happened.’

Did he talk out loud or was she reading his mind?

‘Maybe you won’t tell. Potter, however…’

‘He won’t.’

He almost rolled his eyes: he stopped just in time, well remembering the last time he did that, the day before, led to an unpleasant outcome.

He settled for a sarcastic ‘Did he pinkie promise you?’

She hit his hip with her wand.

‘Ouch!’

‘Oh my, did I hurt you?’

‘You bitchy witch!’

‘Keep talking to me like that, and I’ll _unintentionally_ exe you.’

She wasn’t serious. Not completely. But Draco knew he was playing with fire, so he let the whole thing drop. He enjoyed the quietness of the room and the growing numbness of his mind, which was helping him dealing with – or, better say, ignoring – the memories that were flooding back.

‘Your fever is already high, and I’m not too happy about it.’ She said at the end of her inspection. ‘I’ll tell Harry to check every other hour, the last thing we need is to fry your brain.’

‘You’ll be done with this nightmarish situation this afternoon.’ She reassured him.

‘Good.’

The truth was, he couldn’t care less: the damage was already done. What happened that night, it wasn’t something neither he nor Potter could simply forget.   
Potter. Merlin, he still had to spend an entire day with the Gryffindor nursing him. How could he look him in the eyes, after all he had seen?

He sighed loudly.

‘You know, Draco...’ Hermione was tucking him under the covers. ‘I don’t think you should be worried about Harry. He’s a Gryffindor, after all.’ She joked.

His heart sank down. She was right: Potter never would have used what he saw to get back at him. He wasn’t worried about _that_.

‘I know.’ He said.

‘Then why are you so…’ she struggled finding the right adjective.

‘Why did I send him away?’

Hermione nodded. He felt his stomach churning.

‘Because I was utterly mortified. Because I’m a huge idiot.’ He needed to stop talking, otherwise he would have thrown up.

‘You both are idiots.’ She stated, shaking her head, smiling. She stood there in silence for several seconds, pondering whether adding something.

‘Why?’ Draco asked, forcing the content of his stomach to stay put. To his surprise, he succeeded.

‘Because you should simply talk to each other. You’ll avoid half of your problems…’

‘Yeah, of course. Why didn’t I think about it before? Talk!  
“ _Hi Potter, you know, I think I have crush on you. Now that are much more comfortable around each other, after I puked on you and shitted myself in front of you… How about we go out on a date?”_   
Yeah Hermione, I honestly can’t find any reason not to say something like that.’

He spitted out, raising his voice, working himself up. His stomach dangerously rolled over, but he was too busy discussing with Hermione.

‘That’s not what-’ but she got interrupted.

‘All this assuming that Harry-the-bloody-saviour-Potter is gay. A fact that has never even been suggested. Never. Your strategy is flawless, Granger!’

He finished the sentence half a second before starting to heave. Hermione put the bucket under his chin, helping him up a little bit, and after a couple of dry heaves, he spilled out more eggs and bile.   
Hermione patiently waited for him to finish, then cleaned up all and left him while he was drifting to sleep.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco woke up again around midday. Even with his eyes closed, he knew Potter was there: he could hear the delicate rustling of pages and the faint scraping of his quill on the parchment. Knowing he was still there, after all he had witness, was both comforting and embarrassing.

He felt the urge to apologise, although he wasn’t even sure what for. Merlin only knew, how many items where on the “Things I should say sorry for to Potter”.

_Too many._

Too many to hope that he could just overlook them, ignore years of verbal abuse and physical collisions. Too many to even dream that something more than a respectfully detached coexistence could ever happen. Sometimes he just felt incredibly lucky to have had this second chance, both at life and at Potter. A chance he only had Potter to thank for.   
Most of the times, though, he didn’t think he deserved it.

‘You awake?’ Potter hushed tentatively, trying not to wake him, in case he was still sleeping.

For a second, he cowardly considered pretending to still be asleep, in order to avoid any kind of conversation or further humiliation. But something, in the back of his mind – his conscience, maybe, or his almost non-existent pride – changed his mind.

‘Yes.’ He croaked.

God, he sounded awful, like he swallowed a handful of gravel. His throat definitely felt like that, to be honest.

‘How are you feeling?’ Potter asked, trying to only sound polite, but there’s was an ill-concealed hint of worry that made Draco’s heart flutter.

_Why is he always that kind? Why to me?_

He knew it was because of the fever, and the fact that he hadn’t eaten or slept properly in the last 24 hours, but he felt tears threaten to escape at the corner of his eyes. He kept them shut. 

‘Awful.’

‘I’m sorry…’

And Draco knew Harry was sincerely sad about him and how he was feeling. He knew, that bloody guy was genuinely worried about his health. After all he’d done to him, after all the mocking, the insults and the trouble he put him through, Harry Potter was ready to put all aside and behave like a friend would have.   
He was about to say “sorry”, when a flash of the night before hit him, leaving him breathless.

_Tears streaming down his face._  
‘I forgive you, I swear’  
Harry’s hands caressing him, wiping away the tears.  
‘Stay please…’  
A kiss, soft as the beating of a butterfly’s wings, and a warm smile.  
‘Of course.’

Draco’s eyes opened wide. What the hell happened? Did Harry Potter kiss him? On the forehead, yes, but still a kiss. That felt so… _Intimate_.

 

‘There’s some tea, if you want.’

Draco jumped out of his skin: he didn’t realise that Harry had left the armchair and was now standing on his side.

‘Tha-thanks.’ He blushed. Hard.

_He kissed me_.

It was all he could think about. He turned towards Harry, that was uncomfortably staring at him. Was he expecting an answer? Did he asked him something?

‘What?’ he asked.

‘I said there are biscuits. If you’re up for them. Hermione told me you should eat something.’

The mere thought of ingesting something painted a disgusted expression on his face, and the nausea promptly resurfaced. No, he wasn’t ready for food.

‘No, thanks.’

‘Yeah, I get it.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell ‘Mione.’ He winked.

Draco melted on the spot. He felt like a bloody teenager.

‘Listen… About this morning…’ Draco said hesitantly, but Harry cut him off, handing a cup of hot ginger tea. Draco took it with both hands, slightly shaking.

‘You don’t need to apologise, Draco, I understand.’

_Draco_.

God, his name sounded so much better when was Harry saying it.

_Harry. I should call him Harry_.

He felt high, like his head was no longer stuck on his neck, but fluttering around the room. Damn, he was burning up. He tried to focus.

_Keep it together, for Morgana’s sake!_

‘Still, it wasn’ your fault.’ He slurred a little bit, but he kept casually sipping the tea, hoping Potter wouldn’t notice. ‘And I really appreciated your help.’ He added.

And the face Potter made just after he finished speaking was definitely worth it: his smile widened, and his whole face lit up. He didn’t add anything, leaving both of them lost in their thoughts.

When Draco was done drinking, he took away the cup and helped him under the covers. He didn’t speak a single word, but before leaving the room he gently squeezed Draco’s arm, his hand lingering a little bit longer than it should have.

Before falling to sleep again, Draco could help but thinking, maybe this whole Sylphis situation had its silver linings. Sure, the last 20 minutes couldn’t erase what had happened, but they left Draco wrapped around a warm bubble of tenderness - and a tiny bit of hope.


End file.
